


Wishing to forget.

by IronRaven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Battle of Endor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 02:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronRaven/pseuds/IronRaven
Summary: It is the day after the Battle of Endor. It's over. The Empire is broken. And yet, R2-D2's mission is not yet over, and of all the Rebellion he can not yet celebrate.





	Wishing to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that's been bouncing about in my head for a while in various forms. I think most of the fandom is aware that R2 never had his memory wiped. He remembers all the way back to the Siege of Naboo. And he doesn't want to anymore.

He knew he should have been happy.

The nightmare was over. He could wake up.

The program of the Universe was no longer glitching, and he could tell the Young Master. Soon. Soon he could tell the boy, but not yet. The Master had died yesterday. It was too soon.

The body of his Master had died. Finally. Master, Monster, gone forever. The Monster was dead, and his Master with it. The new Death Star still rained down on this world in tiny flakes and specks, and the Monster's Master with it.

The Emperor was dead.

His long War was over.

He wouldn't know what to do with himself, if he didn't have the War. The Mission. It wasn't, any more. Oh, it wouldn't just end, there would be mopping up for years, and the boy, the Young Master like the Master before him was a Jedi. The Universe was returning to the way it should be.

And yet, R2-D2 was uniquely miserable. No, not because the Mission was over. Not because he had had to keep secrets from the Young Master.

Last night, he had been at the celebration that the organics had held to mark the biggest turning point in his decades long War since the Master had become the Monster. He should have been happy. Last night, he'd decided that he'd tell the Young Master and the Princess who he really was. Who he should have been, and about their Makers. And he was so very, very sad and angry.

As the party was dying down, he'd been informed that the Alliance had set up a place for the various astromechs and other droids to congregate. The Alliance was nice like that- most of it's members thought of droids as people, not machines. So there was a place to recharge and gossip and see who had survived the battle. Droids loved to gossip, and he always found astromechs and maintenance units had the best. He made sure 3PO was recharging, and went looking for his own kind.

The Masters might have been shocked, but it was with a purpose. Masters needed someone to look after them, and that someone was droids. Particularly astromechs. Sure, the protocol and servant units did their part to, but astromechs wanted to wander, just like a curious Master. Their Makers put that in them- if you didn't _want_ to go into hyperspace it really was a ridiculously illogical thing to do. To _want_ to do it, you had to be able to understand _why_ it was a good thing to visit another place where there might be something that would eat you. An organic could feel that curiosity. A good Master didn't wipe their droid, and let them become a person on their own. The Jedi had been very good Masters- which was a good thing, since they needed an a circuit boggling amount of looking after, and it had always been the astromechs. He hadn't expected to find anydroid who would remember. He was the last, other than maybe General Syndulla's astromech, who would remember the Jedi, but C1-10P hadn't been with the Jedi the same way.

And then he'd seen her. A pink and silver R2 unit, looked to be a K-varient unit.

He remembered everything. He'd never been wiped. His memory played tricks on him sometimes. He'd seen and done too much, maybe. R2-D2 was very tired. And there she was, and the weight of time shed away like flakes of oxidation. It couldn't be her, but he had to check.

He had to ask.

The feeling made him not feel tired.

And she was she. It was R2-KT. KT-QT. She'd flown with the 501st before becoming General Secura's astromech. His friend. She'd remember, she'd remember before the Monster butchered- but- no. She'd been wiped. She wasn't his old friend. She wasn't the droid that had gone on that mission with him. She wasn't the droid he spent hours swapping gossip with. She wasn't the droid who had helped him fully collate everything that went into the care and cleaning of his Jedi. She wasn't... _her. _Not any more. She didn't remember the Jedi. She didn't remember him. She didn't remember... them.

He was the only one left who remembered. Not even C-3PO. He'd wiped C-3PO. At C-3PO's request; he'd asked specifically, because he would only trust that to his counterpart. C-3PO was his friend. But his friend didn't share his memories any more.

He wanted to forget. He didn't want all these memories.

But he couldn't forget. The Mission, it wasn't over. And even if was, someone would have to look after the Young Master and the Princess and C-3PO wasn't made for that much adventure. So he would be the only one who knew about the care and maintenance of Masters who carried lightsabers and were prone to a special kind of self endangerment that organics called “heroics”.

He wasn't entirely alone. General Syndulla's C1 unit was here. General Syndulla was a hero to, and he'd been with her since before the Alliance was an alliance and so the stories went had Jedi of his own. Jedi that he'd failed to keep out of trouble. R2 had seen that mismatched, anti-social menace around here some place. He couldn't tell his secrets to the other astromech, but C1-10P was the only one left who could remember any of it. And C1-10P loved to squabble. R2-D2 understood why when organics were in pain they'd consume intoxicants and squabble. By the Maker, how he understood.

Sometimes it was the only way to feel better.

It took a while to find that antique, glitched out bucket of grease. This crowd was a social function for droids, and he was R2-D2. He'd seen the Young Master and the Princess go through the same thing with the other organics of the Alliance. To the astromechs, he was their champion, Rogue Leader's socket-rider and an integral part of the Battle of Yavin and the escape from Hoth and even the destruction of Jabba the Hutt, an organic they'd all heard horror stories of, and a thousand other adventures. He was a hero among the Alliance's droids, and that included many who'd done much more dangerous and daring things than he had. It wasn't a designation, however informal, he'd wanted. But he accepted it. He'd taught the young ones, and the ones who didn't remember any more, about the care and maintenance of their Masters, and now they all wanted to say hello to him.

They thought he was a hero. Organics would say they looked “up” to him, but other than a few of the R4 units that still had high domes and R2z and R3z units with the telescoping struts, he was the same height nearly every other astromech was. He might have been a leader, but here, he was first among equals. If he was first. He didn't want to be. He'd rather be equals. It was easier to be an equal among equals.

R2-D2 had never been a fan of the C1 line, they lacked compassion. They understood things, but they focused on efficiency and their mission. They could be cruel- he wasn't entirely sure they weren't all undercover assassin droids- and ruthless and he hadn't met one yet that really seemed to believe in the Maker. But they did care about their organics, at least their Masters, even if they had the manners of a mynock. And there he was, bold as brass and crude as ever.

R2-D2 looked back at the pink dome of his old friend's frame. She would have been annoyed with him for this. But she didn't remember. So it didn't matter. Besides, C1-10P had started it cycles ago.

_CLANG!! CLANG-CLANG!!_R2-D2 slammed his heavier manipulator into the back of C1-10P's dome, rocking the other droid forward on his struts.

There was an insulting question.

An even more insulting reply. And a comment about a ship being a trash scow.

A suggestion that one's processing core had come from a trash compactor.

The statement that the other should be put in a trash compactor.

Better than a smelter.

Someone had furnace clinkers for circuits!

Manipulators slapped and slammed against struts and bodies. They bashed domes together, and tried to push each other over. The jarring of his circuitry actually felt good to R2-D2.

Only an idiot would try to separate squabbling astromechs without using a shock prod or at least a long crowbar. Or an organic who was very nearly as special as the Young Master. An organic with a voice R2-D2 knew. “Hey! Knock it off, both of you!”

“I said break it up!” A boot pushed against C1-10P's dome, almost tipping the droid who recovered by spinning away. A stocky, older organic pushed his way between them. “STOP IT! What is wrong with you two?”

The organic looked down at R2-D2 with an expression that he knew suggested pain. Then the organic looked at the other astromech. “Chopper! No- no, I don't care. You know better! Go, back off. Or I'll tell Hera what you were up to. No- I'll tell _Jacen_ you were fighting. After he told you to be good! 'Be good, Chop, be nice.' Don't think I won't do it. Go, they need your help finding some pallet and you're the only person who can decipher AP-5's notes.”

The organic. A man with a familiar face. He was still dressed in green, not white. He crouched down before R2-D2, leaving his eyes off the all the other mechs. “Hey now, little fellow. You seem to be fine. Or at least no worse than you were after getting shot like that. That was brave of you, back at the bunker. So why are you fighting with old Chop, hmm?”

R2-D2 had known thousands of organics with this face. They'd considered him an equal. They'd taken his colors. The colors of the 501st had been white and blue because of him, once they weren't shiny any more and their parts were all worked in. White and blue, that was why R2-D2 had accepted his Master's Padawan as part of their group before Master or the Padawan had known it. He wished the Padawan was here...

“You don't remember who I am, do you?”

R2-D2 hooted up to the clone. Probably the last his model left. He knew this man.

“Then why the kriff didn't you tell me?”

The Mission. The Mission, so long, so many secrets, so much to remember. Couldn't tell this clone, his organic equivalent. 'Friend' certainly was a good description. So much history, and caring and maintaining their Jedi, teaching the younger one. R2-D2 wasn't sure, but maybe the organic term “brother” was valid. R2-D2 had remembered Rex, and had said nothing. Maybe it wasn't his Rex was what he'd told himself, there might have been more than one. Or maybe it was his Rex and the organic had forgotten- colloidal memory cells were very volatile.

“Secrets. Yeah... I understand that. Still.” Rex pushed at R2's dome with two fingers, then ran his hand along the panels. They were friends. Each dedicated to their own mission, their own secrets, and still loyal to the Master or at least his memory. “I remember seeing you on Yavin, with Senator Organa and the Princess, but one of us was always busy. It's been a really long time. I talked to 3PO a few times, but he didn't remember me. Sitting next to you on that shuttle, you didn't say anything, so I figured you'd been wiped to.”

R2 let out a hoot of agreement about the duration. It had been a long time. But he'd never had his memory wiped and his personality returned to factory default. He was still him. He still remembered every trooper who fell under his Master's command. He whistled an apology for ignoring his friend, but the Mission.

“Not wiped, just following orders. Should have known.” Rex thumbed away extra optical lubricant from his cheek. “ All my other brothers are gone, Ashoka's gone, and those pathetic kids who stole the unit, they're all dead. We're the last of the 501st, you and me. I miss them all, every day.”

So did R2. The Padawan would have made this easier. He knew what Snips had become for the Senator- he was cleared for information compartmented under the 'Fulcrum' codename. But he didn't know how to tell Rex about the Monster. He knew the Young Master knew his maker was the Monster, Master Yoda had confirmed it. He asked his old friend a question.

“Of course I remember the General. He's pretty hard to forget.” Organic optics studied the indicators on R2's dome and body. “You haven't told Commander Skywalker, have you?”

R2 didn't know how, and bleated out as much. The Young Master hadn't been ready to know, maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe he'd never be ready. He was even more doubtful about the Princess.

Rex blinked, his respiration system glitching as more optical lubricant leaked out. “You mean the kid really is General Skywalker's son?” Rex's lips and cheeks twisted oddly, painfully, enough so that R2-D2 made a scan of the old clone. “He looks a lot like him...”

One of the astromechs let out a hoot of warning, before the mass of them parted for an organic. Just like sound spreads, so does silence. Astromechs rarely gossiped in front of organics, and never in front of pilots or others who might understand binary. The Young Master, still dressed in black and lightsaber hanging from his belt. “Uhm, hi. I heard there was a problem with R2? Something about him picking a fight?”

R2 remembered all the times he'd watched his friend come to attention. Just like for droids, the clones found it easier to have proper and perfectly balanced posture- slouching took energy. “Sir, no trouble. Just a debate, astromech style. I broke it up, no harm done.”

“Alright...” The Young Master frowned. “It's Rex, right? I'm sorry, it's been a really long couple of days and I joined the mission at the last second so I'm not sure I have everyone's names right.”

“Yes, General Skywalker, I'm Rex.”

The Young Master frowned a little. “I'm not a general. I'm a Commander, and soon as I can be done with that, I'll just be Luke. What were you talking about with R2 here? Not many people other than pilots talk to astromechs.”

Rex glanced down at his littler brother. “Sorry, Sir. Reflex. I was Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker's clone commander. The General, Sir, I'm told he was your father? You are the son of Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amedala, correct?”

Master Skywalker swayed a little. He'd never heard a name for his mother. He didn't even have a memory of her. “Who... My mother? Who was she? Who are you? R2?”

Wordlessly, R2 activated his holo emitter, displaying the Queen in her finest regalia. He wurbled softly.

“He says he's sorry, but-”

“-he had orders.” There was that soft laugh. “I understand astromech pretty well.” Luke crouched down to be on eye level with his little friend. “It's ok. I wish you'd told me, but you had orders. From who? And you knew them? My parents?”

So many questions, just like the Master. And so many order from so many people. General Kenobi. Sentator Organa. Yoda. From himself. R2-D2 had promised himself not to tell the Young Master who his Makers were, or that he had a batchmate, a sister. Not until it was all over, and the Monster was gone.

Until the Empire was falling.

R2-D2 hadn't powered down his holoemmitter, and was letting his thoughts leak out through it. Luke watched the images flickering. Some he recognized. A little boy with blond hair on a desert world, who looked almost exactly like Luke had at six or seven. What he assumed was the same boy, grown into a man, wielding a lightsaber. A beautiful woman- she looked so much like Leia. A young Obi-wan. A young Togrutan woman, a human man he recognized as Bail Organa but younger. Masters Obi-wan and Yoda. And so much more- Jedi and Stormtroopers, or Clones? Ships, droids, dozens of worlds. For a moment, it seemed like his past had been hidden just out of sight, and his life manipulated but... by who? By R2? By Ben? The Force itself? If he'd been told even five days ago... “R2? Maybe... start at the beginning?”

“Then we should find a place where we can sit, Sir. There is a lot to talk about.”

**Author's Note:**

> And if you aren't familiar with R2-KT, https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/R2-KT
> 
> That she wouldn't remember was the hardest decision to make with this. The firs title for this was Master and Commander. Originally, I was going to do this with Luke being told that a wounded trooper is asking for him and his astromech. Of course, it would be Rex, who would have been wounded, who wants to confirm that Luke is Anakin's son, and asking to be relieved from duty. And Rex's last words were going to be to R2, "tell him, brother, tell Commander Skywalker about his parents". Couldn't do it, it hurt ME, as the author, too much. So when I say wiping R2-KT was harder, yes, it was a high pollen day, 99%. But I had to take R2-D2 to the point he feels there is nothing left but the mission, and the memories. 
> 
> Instead, the last of the true 501st will be there for this Skywalker. And it is my headcannon that R2-D2 is why the 501st took blue on white as their colors. And why, even before the General realized it, Rex and R2 were willing to accept Ahsoka as one of their own. She was already wearing the right colors to be their sister.


End file.
